Buon Giorno, Angel
by Ella Menno
Summary: An examination (possibly A/U) of Sabrina's time in Italy and the circumstances surrounding her decision to leave Townsend Investigations.


#  **Buon Giorno, Angel**

**Author**: Ella Menno

**Rating**: PG (occasional swearing and a bit of violence)

**Summary**: An examination of the circumstances surrounding Sabrina's trip to Italy and her reasons for not returning to Townsend Investigations.

**Disclaimer**: Charlie's Angels and the characters therein belong to Columbia Tri-Star Television and Spelling Goldberg Productions. This work of fiction was written by one fan for the enjoyment of others with no rights asserted, implied, or transferred.

**Author's Notes**: Within the common lore of sailors, it's considered bad luck to rename a ship that has already been christened. From the perspective of fanfiction, I had similar qualms about writing a Charlie's Angels story after having been immersed in SMK fanfic for more than a year. It is with great anticipation and heightened nerves that I now post the result of my foray into that other world. I hope I have not done it any disservices, and I will more than happily listen to any feedback.

I am grateful both to 'the usual suspects' and to my two beta readers. Ya'll were immeasurably helpful.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** _June 7, 1979___

The line outside the Galleria degli Uffizi stretched out the door and down the narrow via. From a distance, under the hot sun of an Italian summer, the individual tourists seemed to melt into one organic mass. They were unified by the common goal of simply getting indoors -- to escape the heat and to view the masterworks housed inside.

He scanned the crowd again -- seeking a single person in the sea of humanity. Then, he spotted her -- a strand of hair so blond it could have served as inspiration to Botticelli's Venus, victim to the heat and perspiration, had worked its way from the protection of the floppy sunhat to hang limply against her face. Though he could not see her eyes, hidden as they were behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses, he knew they were blue.

She was talking animatedly to another woman -- an Italian, he had presumed from her dark features. Now, as he drew closer, he realized she, too, was an American. Like other American women, she had an intangible air about her that was unmatched by citizens of any other country.

He continued walking toward her, caution tempering his purposeful stride, and noted the dual shocks of recognition and realization coursing over her features.   
The other woman watched, openly keen and observant, as his quarry, her companion, attempted to slip away. He'd tracked her too long, however, and knew her too well. Before she reached the end of the via della Ninna, he lay a firm hand on her shoulder.

"You weren't trying to get away from me, were you, Lisa?"

"No, no, Ralph, of course not. I just . . . the line was so long and I was tired of waiting. I didn't even know you were there." It was a lie, but they both knew it.

The other woman approached them, a cautious watchfulness still present in her eyes. "Lisa, are you okay?"   
She waited patiently for an answer -- not rushing either of them -- as though she could just as easily collect the needed information from what was unsaid as from what was said.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, Sabrina. This is my . . . my husband, Ralph." She nodded at him and continued. "Ralph, this is Sabrina. We're staying at the same hotel."

"Pleased to meet you." Sabrina smiled forthrightly and held out her hand. Ralph shook it in response, though his eyes never met hers.

"Come on, darling." He gripped Lisa's hand. "We have to catch the train back to Rome. Our flight leaves tonight."

Sabrina was startled. "Tonight! Lisa, I thought you were going to be here for the rest of the . . ."

Lisa smiled apologetically and shifted her weight as she spoke. "We, uh . . . had a change of plans. I'm sorry, Sabrina." The couple started to walk away again, and Sabrina took a few awkward skipping steps after them while digging in her purse.

"Hang on, Lisa. Wait!" She found what she had been looking for and slipped it into the palm of the other woman's hand. "That's my card; look me up when you're back in the states."

As the couple rounded the corner, Sabrina turned back toward the gallery and the long line still stretching down the sidewalk. "Damn!" she swore under her breath, realizing that she'd have to start again at the end of it.

With a sigh of resignation, she headed around the corner to the Accademia instead. She would be in Florence for a few more days; the Uffizi could wait.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"Let me see that." Ralph, one arm still tightly around his companion's waist, snatched the business card from her fingers with the other.

"Charles Townsend Investigations; Sabrina Duncan, Licensed Private Investigator," he read the words aloud and then repeated them with an air of irony and incredulity. "Charles Townsend Investigations." He ripped the card into tiny shreds and scattered the pieces to the wind.

Lisa watched aghast as Italy's omnipresent pigeons, thinking they were being fed, quickly flocked after the scraps and then just as quickly flew away, leaving them to be trampled by the feet of thousands of tourists. "Come on." Ralph paid her concern over the destroyed card no heed. "We're going to miss the train."

As he directed her through the streets, he was so intent on the destination that he didn't notice her quiet repetitions, "555-3789; 555-3789."

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Michelangelo's David stretched much higher than Sabrina had realized, and she adjusted the aperture of her camera to attempt to fit it into the frame. Polished white marble carved into the eternal figure of young man in his prime, hands and feet disproportionately large, to emphasize the sheer strength and will of the young Jewish king. At his feet, she was rendered momentarily breathless.

She was glad she'd decided to spend a few days on this side trip from Rome. Florence, the seat of the Italian Renaissance and the de'Medici family's power, had a lot to offer an art aficionado like her. She finished lining up the shot and then, with the click of a button, preserved the image forever on film. For a brief moment, she wondered how the other angels were doing.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

Ralph stowed their luggage on the overhead racks and then sat heavily against the seat. Already, the train was pulling out of the Florence station to speed through the night toward Rome. Their compartment was empty save one elderly man snoozing in the corner, and he took advantage of the situation.   
"How much does she know?"

"Nothing, Ralph; I swear." Lisa pulled a compact from her purse and began to touch up her make-up.

"You didn't tell her anything?" Both his tone and his expression revealed that he didn't believe her.

"No! We met in the hotel cafe. Since we were both American, and both traveling alone, we thought we'd see the sights together. I thought she was a teacher off for the summer or something; she knew EVERYTHING about Italy. I never knew 'til today she was a detective." She blotted her lipstick and then asked, "What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna have Gianni take care of her. If she can identify you, she already knows too much."

Lisa's eyes widened, but she said nothing.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Sabrina stepped out of the shower and toweled her hair dry. The combined effects of the sun and the liberal amount of wine she had consumed with dinner had left her blissfully exhausted. Setting her travel alarm, she quickly changed into her nightclothes and fell into a deep sleep.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"Townsend Associates, this is John Bosley speaking." Lisa listened to the rough but cheerful voice on the other end of the phone.

"I need Sabrina Duncan," she told him, her voice a strained whisper.

"I'm sorry, Sabrina's away this month; is there something I can help you with?" Bosley pushed away the ledgers he was reviewing, finding the scared young woman much more interesting than balancing the company's budget.

"Can you get a message to her?" Her voice dropped even further, and Bosley strained to hear.

"Well, yes; I suppose." He picked up a pen and flipped to a blank page in the ledger.

"My name is Lisa Caswell. I met Sabrina in Florence. Tell her, her life is in danger." With that, the phone was abruptly disconnected, and Bosley stared at the receiver for a moment in confusion.

Then, he dialed the number to his boss' villa in Siena.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

The shrill double ring interrupted her sleep and she reached for the button on her alarm clock before realizing it was the phone. "'Lo? I mean . . . pronto."

"Buon Giorgno, Angel!" Sabrina immediately recognized the voice on the other end, and flipped on her bedside light -- instantly alert.

"Charlie! What a surprise. You sound so close!" Sabrina, used to her unseen employer's unusual tactics, never thought to question the late night phone call nor how he had managed to track her down in Florence.

"How are you enjoying your vacation?"

"It's a veritable Roman Holiday, Charlie." She answered cautiously wondering if perhaps he was going to cut her time in Italy short. "I am still on vacation, aren't I?"

"Angel, we have to talk . . ." he began.

"Oh, no!"

"Meet me downstairs in the lobby in half an hour," he continued as though he hadn't heard her distress.

"Charlie, you can't do this! This is my first vacation in . . .wait a minute," she paused. "What did you say?"

"I need you to meet me in the lobby," he repeated.

"Me? Meet you? In the lobby?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Sure, I'll be there." Sabrina hung up the phone before he could say any more, irrationally feeling as though prolonging the moment would make it less real.

Standing up, she began to rifle through her suitcase. In a moment of uncharacteristic indecision and vanity, she had no idea what to wear to meet her boss for the first time.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"Where have you been?" Lisa saw Ralph waiting impatiently by the newsstand.

"There was a line," she answered with a nod in the direction of the public toilets.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" He gripped her wrist tightly as they walked down the narrow cobbles of Rome's back alleys.

"No, of course not," she answered automatically.

"Good." They arrived at their destination, and he placed three staccato knocks on the thick, wooden door.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

There was only one person in the hotel lobby at that late hour, but she would have recognized him immediately were the room packed. _He looks just like he sounds,_ she concluded and then almost laughed at her own thought. Tall, dark hair touched with distinguished gray, and impeccably dressed, it could be no one other than Charlie.

He had piercing blue eyes that warmed immediately as he spied her coming down the stairs. "Sabrina, my love." He grasped both her hands firmly in his and planted a warm kiss on her cheek. "There's an all-night gelatto shop around the corner. The owner is an old friend of mine. Shall we?"

Sabrina, flummoxed, could come up with no other answer than, "Sure."

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"So how much does this Duncan woman know?" Their host sat in the shadows, cigar smoke further obscuring his features.

"Nothing," Lisa answered resolutely. "We poked around Florence -- the Duomo, the Baptistery, Ponte Vecchio -- took pictures. She bought some clothes at one of the boutiques. Things like that."

"But she can identify you?" he asked, his voice as clouded as his features.

"I suppose so," Lisa admitted.

"These photographs, are there any of you?"

Lisa thought for a moment. "Yes, she gave the camera to someone to take our picture in front of the Baptistery doors."

"Stupid. Very stupid." He exhaled the smoke in short angry bursts.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

Sabrina licked the last remnants of the creamy gelatto from the wooden scoop and smacked her lips appreciatively. "Okay, Charlie, you've filled me up with chocolate. You can give me the bad news now; I won't put up a fight."

"Angel, Bosley got a call today that left him a bit concerned. He called me at my villa in Siena, and after hearing what he had to say, I tracked you down here."   
He paused. "It appears, my dear, that your life is in danger."

"What??!" She was incredulous. "Charlie, if you want me to come home, I'll come home. You don't have to . . ." She glanced across the table at him. "You're serious; aren't you?"

"Yes, Sabrina, I am."

"Well, that's just ridiculous! I mean . . ." she paused, trying to calm herself enough to think through the problem rationally. Taking a deep breath, she asked,

"What did the caller say?"

"She said her name was Lisa, that she met you in Florence, and to tell you your life was in danger."

"Lisa . . ." She played absently with her bracelet as she thought out loud. "Lisa. That's just too bizarre."

"So you know her then?"

"Yes, I mean no. Well, not really. We'd just met." She started again. "She said her husband was on business in Sicily, but she'd always wanted to see the rest of the country, so she set off on her own and was going to meet up with him later. We saw some of the sites together, took pictures, you know. Then today . . ." Her narrative trailed off as she recalled the events outside the Uffizi.

"Today he showed up -- out of the blue," she picked up where she'd left off. "I got the impression something wasn't right, but I don't know why they'd want to kill me."

"I don't know, Angel, but we're not going to get any answers tonight. I want you to come back to my villa with me. We'll start out in the morning."

She looked at him with sheer determination. "I'm not gonna run, Charlie."

"I didn't expect you would, my dear," he responded, his resonant voice carrying through the empty shop. "And you're not running. You're just playing it safe."

"You're right." She finally agreed, seeing the logic in his argument. "Okay, let's see this villa of yours."

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"Charlie, this is _gorgeous_!" Though it was illuminated only by the faint light of a half-moon, Sabrina could still appreciate the rustic Italian architecture of the villa and the panoramic vista into which it had been placed.

"It looks nicer during the day," he commented and watched her disguise a yawn. "You must be exhausted. Why don't I show you to your room? My valet, Paolo, will get your bags.

She didn't argue with him, and yawned again as he led her into the house.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

_June 8, 1979___

Breakfast was served on a terrace overlooking the Tiber River.

Lisa sipped at her espresso while her three male companions heartily devoured the assortment of breads, fruits, and cheese that had been laid out for them.   
"Are the plans in place?" the cigar smoker from the night before asked.

"Si, Signor Vilnitski," the new arrival confirmed. "The meeting is set for the thirteenth in Vienna. We will leave on the tomorrow night to meet our contacts there. I have arranged for new passports and you . . ." He pointed at Lisa. "You are to do something with your hair. Cut it; dye it. Blonde is too obvious."

Lisa winced, but said nothing.

"How can we be sure of getting both of them?" Ralph spoke for the first time.

"Gianni, would you care to demonstrate?" Their host had finished breakfast and was again enthusiastically enjoying a cigar.

"Si, Signor Vilnetski." Gianni nodded and picked a small box off the table. "See the boat?" He pointed to a yacht anchored several meters down the river, and then pressed a button on the top of the box.

In an instant, a thunderous roar caused Lisa to cringe against her chair as a fiery explosion reduced the boat to little more than rubble.

"Oh, dear God." She exhaled. "You're going to blow up the whole building."

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

"So, how did you wind up with a villa in Italy, Charlie?" Sabrina was looking, not at her host, but at the mist slowly burning off the hills as they were warmed by the early morning sun.

"Army Intelligence stationed me here after the war. I guess you could say I fell in love."

"A girl?" she asked, wondering if the root to his perpetual bachelorhood were about to be revealed.

"No, nothing like that, Angel." Charlie moved to join her at the window. "The land; the country; the people. There's very little pretension in Italy."

"Yes," Sabrina agreed. "I think I understand."

"I think you do, my dear." He rested a hand gently on her shoulder. "Are you ready to go?"

"Let me go get my purse." She pulled herself reluctantly away from the vista. For a fleeting moment, she was sorry that the other angels weren't here to share it with her.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"And the Duncan woman?" Ralph reached for the coffee carafe and poured himself another cup as he asked the question.

"She has checked out of the hotel; we don't know where she has gone." Gianni answered.

"Damn!" Ralph set his mug down heavily.

"Relax," Gianni answered him. "I have already checked with the airlines and the border police. There has been no activity on her passport. She must still be in Toscana."

"Unless she's traveling under a different name." Lisa spoke for only the second time that morning.

"No, not Sabrina Duncan," Ralph responded with conviction. "I saw her with you; she's as clean as they come."

Gianni agreed, "Ralph is right . . . And I am late for work." He reached for the black and white uniform cap of the Rome police department, placed it on his head, and waved good-bye to the assembled group."

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"You don't have any record of her at all?" Sabrina eyed the hotel clerk incredulously. "Lisa Caswell. She was staying in room 208. You saw us together yesterday when you gave us directions to the Uffizi."

"Si, signorina, but that woman was not a guest at the hotel. Room 208 has been occupied by Signora Margaret Burke of Northampton, Massachusetts, for the past two weeks. She is much older and . . . eh . . . wider than your friend. I am sorry, Signorina Duncan, but you must be mistaken."

"Right . . ." Sabrina walked back to where Charlie had been waiting for her.

As they made their way toward the front doors, she grabbed his arm and pointed out the window. "Oh, my lord! Look! Is that Sophia Loren?"

"Where?" Charlie looked in the direction Sabrina was pointing.

"Right there; walking by." Sabrina moved her finger a little to indicate movement as her other hand gripped his elbow a little more tightly.

"Oh, yes!" He agreed. "Why, Sabrina, I think you're right."

The clerk, who had been watching the exchange with some interest, stepped out from behind the counter.

"That way!" Sabrina pointed again and nodded at the clerk. "If you run, you might be able to catch her."

"Nice work, Angel!" Charlie exclaimed as soon as the young man was out the door.

She said nothing in response, but quickly crossed back to the counter. Finding the register, she flipped back a few pages until she found what she needed. She ripped the entire page out and was instantly back at her boss' side.

"Let's get out of here," she folded the page and stuck it in her purse.

"Right," he agreed, looking down at her with admiration.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"Good. Thank you." Vilnitski hung up his telephone, and turned to Ralph. "That was Stephano. Sabrina Duncan was at the hotel today."

"And?" Ralph looked up from his newspaper. "What did he tell her?"

"Exactly what we told him to – that Lisa was never a guest in the hotel." The older man picked up a cigar cutter from his desk and emphatically snipped the end from his.

"Good."

Vilnitski lit his cigar and took a long drag before answering. "Not really."

"What do you mean?" Ralph set his newspaper down and sat forward on the plush couch.

"She had a man with her," he returned simply. "It sounds like Townsend."

Ralph smiled, though his eyes remained cold. "This could be interesting."

"How so?" Vilnitski exhaled the blue-gray smoke in a steady stream, while he waited for Ralph's explanation.

"Don't you see? We can get rid of Townsend, too, and I know just the person to do it."

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"Charlie, look at this." Sabrina sat at his large dining room table examining the page from the hotel register.

He came up behind her, and leaned in toward where she was looking. "What is it, Angel?"

"The page has been tampered with. See Mrs. Burke's entry? I think it's been glued over something else. Someone cut the paper to fit." She traced around the edges with her index finger, occasionally testing it with her nail.

"_Merda_!" She finally exclaimed and pouted, realizing that the paper had been too securely fastened for her to remove without damaging anything.

Charlie chuckled at her casual use of the Italian epithet. "Let me see." He took the sheet from her hands and examined it carefully. "You know, I have a friend who works at the police laboratory in Bologna. I think he might be able to figure out what was underneath here."

Sabrina started to respond, but he continued, anticipating her next question. "It's about an hour and a half away. You said last night that you took some pictures yesterday. Do you still develop film, too?"

"Yeah, now and then."

"I have a dark room off the wine cellar. Do you think you could make some prints of the shots you made?"

"Sure, Charlie." She headed slowly out the door toward her room, and he called after her.

"Oh, Sabrina . . ."

She turned to face him. "When you're done, you might want to have Paolo show you the stables."

"You got it, Charlie!" She started off more quickly, the promise of time with horses a strong motivator.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

"Oh, get over it!" Ralph found Lisa alone in the guest-room, tear tracks drying on her face. Her hair had been cropped into a short bob and dyed dark brown.

A tour guide to Vienna was open in her lap. "Did you know the Hofburg was built in the thirteenth century? Its treasury houses the crown of the Holy Roman Empire," she noted by way of response.

He threw a passport at her. "It'll be rubble by next week. Now shut up and get packed; you have another job."

She opened the document. "Donna Eagan from Lincoln, Nebraska. Nice and generic."

"You haven't asked what you're going to be doing?" he started as she pulled her suitcase from beneath the bed.

"It doesn't matter." She sullenly started throwing her clothes into her luggage.

"Oh, but it does," he pulled a pistol from the back waistband of his jeans and placed it deliberately on top of her clothes. "You are going to kill Sabrina Duncan and Charles Townsend."

"And if I refuse?" She put her hands on her hips.

He smirked. "Gianni will place a call to Interpol. I'm sure they'd be more than eager to hear about some of the projects you've been involved in."   
Without warning, her hand flew out and struck his face. "You son of a bitch!"

He caught her wrist as she drew it back. "Temper, my love. That's no way for a wife to treat her husband. Now, get packed. Your train leaves at four." As he walked toward the door, he called over his shoulder, "And don't think about running again. One of Vilnitski's men will be following you. If you do this right, he might even let you live."

He slipped out of the room shutting the door behind him. She threw a shoe after his retreating form, and it rebounded off the door with a thunk.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

Charlie found her riding through the fields behind the villa. The sun was just beginning to wane win the sky as she slowed the horse and brought it to a halt next to her boss.

"I see you've met Machiavelli." He took her hand as she slid off the stallion's back.

"I think I'm in love," she gushed in response and began to gently rub the horse's neck. "He's beautiful."

"I'm glad you approve." He smiled warmly. "If you're ready to go in, I'd like to show you what we came up with in Bologna."

"Oh, yes, and my pictures should be dry by now. I'll just show this beautiful boy back to the stable and meet you in the library."

He watched as she led Machiavelli away. Even with the threat looming over her head, Sabrina was more at peace than he'd seen her in a long time. The realization both gladdened and saddened him.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

"_You're going to kill Sabrina Duncan._" Lisa awoke with a start as the train continued to chug through the countryside – Ralph's ominous words invading even her dreams.

The pistol he'd given her was packed into her locked suitcase, and she knew from previous experience that the serial number had been carefully filed off. There would be no way to link it to her or the rest of the group.

She stood and stretched the kinks out of her back. She'd been spending too much time on a train lately – too much time running from country to country in support of a political agenda that had initially seemed noble but now merely frightened her.

The alternative, however -- she laughed quietly and drew the attention of her carmates. The alternative was death.

She sank into her seat and attempted to fall back to sleep.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

"Marianne Wilson . . . Cincinnati, Ohio." Sabrina looked at the page of the restored register. "Think it's her real name?"

"Doubtful, Angel," he answered.

She ran her finger over the line of precise script in contemplation. "I didn't think so."

"You know these pictures are really good." Charlie thumbed through the prints, and pulled out the shot of Sabrina and Lisa in front of the Ponte Vecchio. "Is this her?"

"Yeah . . ." Sabrina nodded. "There's a better one in front of the Baptistery." She reached leaned over the coffee table and pulled out a photo. "Here."

"Ahh, yes." Charlie looked at the blonde woman standing next to his brunette employee. "I think I'll borrow this for a while if you don't mind, my dear. See if either Scotland Yard or Interpol have a match for her."

"Sure," she answered automatically, and then bit her lip for a moment before saying. "You know, Charlie . . . if someone really is planning to kill me, wouldn't we have better luck if I . . . well, if I were out there to target?"

"I don't like that, Sabrina." He set the photo down to talk to her more directly. "You'd be taking a huge risk."

"I take huge risks every day when I work for you," she returned. "And as much as I adore Machiavelli, I _cannot_ hide out here for the rest of my vacation. I came to out here to see Italy, and that's what I'm going to do."

Charlie sighed. "There's a thin line between bravery and foolhardiness, Sabrina."

"I can't hide, Charlie," she repeated solemnly.

"Will you at least let me go with you?" he asked, looking at her seriously.

"I don't need a baby-sitter." She waved her finger at him testily.

He took her hand between his. "A friend, then."

She smiled complacently, feeling slightly guilty. "Sure, a friend."

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

Bosley sighed, and began to lock the door. Without the Angels, the Townsend Agency was a lonely place. The phone rang, and he paused by the door, listening for the answering machine to pick up.

"Hello? Hello? This is Lisa Caswell again, I need to reach Sabri . . ." Bosley crossed the room in two steps.

"Hello! Ms. Caswell, this is John Bosley, what can I do for you?"

"You know how to reach Sabrina." Her voice was surer than it had been the last time he spoke with her.

"Yes. I gave her your other message." Bosley wondered where the conversation was going.

"I need to speak with her again. Can you tell me how?"

"Well, I uh . . . I . . ."

She interrupted his stammering, "It's really VERY important."

Bosley was silent as he weighed the competing interests of Charlie's privacy and Sabrina's safety, trying to find a balance between the two. Finally, he said, "Tell me where you can be reached; I'll have her call you."

After a moment's hesitation, she gave him the number. "I'm staying at the Hotel Ambasciatori, under the name Donna Eagan."

Bosley copied the information, and then picked up the telephone, again calling Charlie's villa in Siena.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

"Lisa made it back to Florence." Ralph entered Vilnitski's study without knocking. "I've just heard from them."

"Good," Vilnitski responded. "Is everything set for tomorrow?"

Ralph nodded. "Yes, we will be leaving for Vienna on the 8 am train. It is a twelve hour ride, so we shall be there tomorrow night."

"And you have arranged access to the rooms at the Hofburg?"

"Guards are very easy to pay off." Ralph smiled and left the room.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

Lisa reached for the phone and then drew her hand back, deciding instead to set to the task of unpacking. There had been three other train passengers who checked in at the same time as she, but she knew none of them had been sent to trail her. Whoever he or she was, would not be careless enough to be seen. Unless . . . Lisa mentally shook herself. She was getting paranoid.

She pulled out the pistol and began to examine it. It looked East German or Russian in origin. With the studied movements of an expert, she began to disassemble the weapon for cleaning and reloading.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

_June 9, 1979_

"Bosley called after you went to bed last night," Charlie informed her as she was stirring cream into her coffee.

"Charlie!" She set the spoon down heavily "Why didn't you tell me? I woulda loved to have talked to him."

"It wasn't a long conversation, Angel," Charlie responded as Paolo served their eggs. "He just wanted to let us know that your friend, Lisa, is trying to get in touch with you.

Sabrina noted the use of 'us,' glad that Charlie was not promising to make all the decisions alone, but did not comment on it. She instead immediately began asking questions. "What did he say? What did she say? What do we do now?"

"Here." Charlie smiled and pulled a folded slip of paper from his breast pocket. "She's staying at the Hotel Ambasciatori under the name of Donna Eagan."

Barely glancing at the frittata Paolo had placed in front of her, Sabrina bounded away from the table to place the call.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Lisa stared at the phone as it rang, dreading the conversation she would have to have as soon as she picked it up. Finally, after the fourth ring, she succumbed to the inevitable.

"Pronto?"

Her voice sounded strangely detached in her own head, and she had to focus on the words coming from the earpiece.

"Lisa? It's Sabrina. You wanna tell me what the heck is going on? You drop everything and leave in the middle of the afternoon from the line at the Uffizi, then I get a call from California saying that you said that my life is in danger!" Lisa could hear the tension in her voice, and then the tone shifted. "I'm worried about you."

"I need to see you." Her eyes settled on the gun as she said it, and Lisa wondered if the sound of her own telltale heart could transmit over the phone.

"Okay." Sabrina exhaled deeply. "Where? When?"

"In the Piazza del Duomo – by the Baptistery. I'll meet you there and explain everything. Twelve this afternoon. And Sabrina . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry." Lisa hung up the phone before Sabrina could say any more. Reaching again for the gun, she began to restlessly load and unload it. She had three hours.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

Sabrina's movements when she came back into the dining room were slow and deliberate, her eyes distant as though focused somewhere deep within herself.   
"You're troubled, Angel."

"I'm supposed to meet her at noon." She didn't respond to his observation. "How long will it take to get to the duomo from here?"

"About an hour. We can leave as soon as you'd like."

She took a bite of toast and washed it down with tepid coffee. "Sure."

No longer hungry for breakfast, she pushed her plate away and started out of the room. At the end of the table, she paused and squeezed her boss' hand. "Thank you, Charlie."

He returned the squeeze. "It's been my pleasure, my dear."

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

The sun beat down on the cobbles throughout the piazza, and Lisa nervously checked her watch. Leaning against the wrought iron gates, she scanned the crowd looking for Sabrina's familiar features, knowing that with her shorter, much darker hair, Sabrina would not recognize her.

To her left, a group of tourists was arguing vocally in German – one man pointing to a map as he spoke, as though it would solidify his point of view. To her right, two older Japanese women were attempting to capture everything on their cameras. She thought briefly of Sabrina and her own camera.

In the distance she saw the group that had checked into the hotel last night; each carried a newspaper under their arms. Behind them was Sabrina with a man she had not seen before, but whom she realized must be Charles Townsend.

As Sabrina and Charlie drew closer, she noticed the other trio pause, pointing and looking at the roof of the old cathedral still tightly clutching the folded paper. It was then that she realized what was going on and what she would have to do. She was tired of running.

"Sabrina! Get out of here! It's a set-up!!" She pushed away from the gates and dashed toward the pair. As she ran, the trio turned away from their inspection of the cathedral toward Sabrina and Charlie, pulling guns from beneath their folded newspapers as they did so.

"Charlie!!" Sabrina launched herself in front of him as she saw them take aim. Together, they fell to the ground, and he watched in horror as a red stain quickly began to spread down the front of her blouse.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

_June 10, 1979_

"Aunghh," she moaned and reached to rub her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Angel." Charlie stood from the chair he was sitting in and was instantly at her bedside.

"Charlie? Where am I? What happened?" She looked around, taking stock of herself and her surroundings, wincing when she realized that her left arm was in a sling.

"You're at an Air Force hospital in Aviano. You were shot in the shoulder – and probably saved my life in the process. Hell of a risk, Angel."

She laughed weakly looking at her arm. "Job security. Doesn't help if your employer's dead." She looked back at him and asked, "What about Lisa?"

Charlie sighed and took her hand in his. "She . . . she was killed at the scene. I'm sorry, Sabrina."

Sabrina bit her lip and forced back her tears. "Did you at least find out what the hell this was all about?"

"As a matter of fact, we did." He squeezed her hand. "Lisa was involved in a radical political band that was planning to bomb the Hofburg in Vienna – where Brezhnev and President Carter are going to be meeting on the thirteenth."

Sabrina exhaled deeply, and then winced as pain shot through her shoulder. "No wonder. If they thought I could identify her . . . " She shook her head. "No wonder."

"You prevented a major world event, Sabrina. You should be proud."

"Right now, I just want to go home. . ." she admitted. "How long do I have to be here?"

"A few more days, my dear, and then you can come back to the villa to recuperate with me." He ran his thumb lightly over the back of her hand. "You'll have quite a story to tell the others when you get back to California."

"Yeah," she said tonelessly. "I guess I will. Do you mind if I go to sleep now?"

"No, not at all. Pleasant dreams, Angel."

***~*~*~*~*~*~*** ****

_June 18, 1979_

"Sabrina, my love, what would you say if I told you that spending this time with you has caused me to rethink my position on monogamy."

He'd been watching her carefully over dinner and now swirled his after-dinner brandy gently in the snifter as he waited for an answer.

Sabrina set down her water glass and fooled with the strap of her sling, avoiding his eyes. Weighing her words carefully, she spoke. "I'd say it's a good thing I'm leaving for Rome tomorrow." She stood and walked around the edge of the table, and leaned against its edge next to him. "But you knew I'd say that or you never would've asked me in the first place."

His piercing blue eyes searched her brown ones as though they were, in fact, the windows to her soul. "Yes . . . yes, I think you're right. What will you do when you get back to the U.S.?"

"What do you mean?" He had changed the subject so completely that she struggled to keep up with the conversation's direction.

"I think you know what I mean, Sabrina." He picked up her hand and squeezed it gently. "Watching you, listening to you . . . I knew when I granted you the time off to go to Italy, that I probably wasn't going to get you back. You haven't been happy."

She shook her head – stunned at his ability to see so far into her. Further than she, herself, had seen – or been willing to admit.

"No, I guess I haven't." She thought for a moment. "That's why you came, isn't it? If you really thought I was coming back, you never woulda let me see you."

Her only confirmation was a barely perceptible nod, before he asked, "Where are you going to go?"

"Oh, I don't know!" She shrugged and then winced as pain shot through her injured shoulder. She brought up her other hand to massage it lightly and then said,   
"How about Wisconsin?"

"Wisconsin, Angel?" Charlie laughed. "Sabrina, most people are trying to get out of Wisconsin!"

She smiled, glad the tone of the conversation had grown lighter. "Oh, I dunno. After all, they've got cheese . . . and snow. Lots of snow; I could ski as much as I wanted to. And there's the Packers." She grinned wickedly. "Maybe I'll even meet Lynn Dickey."

"Ahhh, well, I've never been much for football. Polo was more my thing." Charlie signaled the butler to begin clearing the table as he spoke, and Sabrina moved to sit in a chair to give him better access.

"You know, my dear, the skiing in Italy is pretty good too," he began as she was seated.

"I _can't_ stay in Italy."

"The reason I mentioned it, is that I find myself in a bit of a bind. The head of my German division is retiring next month and I've had to send my British vice-president in to replace her. I sent my Italian VP to Britain to replace him, and that leaves me with no one to look after my interests in Italy."

"You're not suggesting . . ." Sabrina began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"The person I choose would have to think on her own feet, be a good leader, and of course, be familiar with the country and the language. What do you think, Angel?"

"Charlie . . ." She laughed uncomfortably. "I can't just go from being a private detective to a vice president in your corporation!"

"Angel, you have more than proved yourself capable of doing anything you choose over these past few years. I've had my eye on you for a while."

She blushed at his compliment. "This isn't just because of your affection for me? I need to feel that I _earned_ this."

"Salary is $65,000 a year, plus a flat in Milan," he continued as though he hadn't heard the question.

"On the other hand . . ." she began, the allure of the jump in pay undeniable. "Look, Charlie, I'll do it, but I want it to be provisionary. I want your promise that if I'm not cutting it, you'll let me go."

"I'd do the same with any employee." He brushed his lips over her knuckles to seal the deal.

"What am I going to tell everyone? I can't just walk away." It was the first time in their discussion that the thought of her coworkers entered her mind.

"I'll take care of it." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he spoke. "I'll tell them you fell in love.

"With Italy." She responded, the memory of their earlier conversation returning. "Good night, Charlie." She planted a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Buona sera, carina," he whispered after her retreating form.****

**END**   
****


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